


Untitled

by Ryface



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-06
Updated: 2012-02-06
Packaged: 2017-11-09 07:13:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/452760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ryface/pseuds/Ryface
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wally really needed to stop accidentally thinking about his best - MALE - friend while jerking off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untitled

This really needed to stop happening.  
  
Not that it happened a lot! Because that would be weird. But. It had happened more times than Wally would’ve liked. Which, really, he could’ve said after the first time, if he were ever going to tell anyone about this ever at all, which he wasn’t. But accidentally thinking about your best - _**MALE**_ \- friend when you’re jerking off just isn’t okay.  
  
It started like this:

Wally was sitting in the kitchen, doing his homework, focusing 100% on the boring page in front of him and not even a little bit on how badly he wanted to be out doing something more exciting with his uncle. But he’d gotten a less-than-awesome grade on his last English test, so The Flash had insisted that he spend more time focusing on his grades, especially since it was so close to the end of the term. Wally had, of course, protested that this was _totally_ unfair. How was knowing what some crusty old dead British dude had meant in some boring lecture in some play about people falling in love or whatever going to help him be an awesome scientist and an even awesomer superhero? It wasn’t! But apparently, it was Barry’s way or not at all.  
  
In the living room, he could hear his mother watching tv. Some sort of sports competetion, he thought, maybe figure skating? He’d never really got the appeal of sitting around watching other people be active. He thought about how much more fun it is to be up and moving and _doing something—_ Okay, he really had to put the homework aside for now, because he wasn’t getting anything done anyway. He stood up from the table and shoved his things back into his backpack, then headed into the living room.  
  
“Mom, I’m done my homework,” he leaned against the doorway and checked out the tv screen. It was women’s gymnastics, not figure skating. Heh. At least that’s a little more interesting to watch, even if just for _other_ reasons.  
  
“Oh, that’s good, dear,” his mother remarked, idly, focused instead on the technique of the petite girl on the screen as she executed what Wally recognized as a pretty complicated move. He watched the rest of her routine, finding himself more interested than he thought he would be, and not just because of her skin-tight red and black costume. Some of the moves looked pretty familiar, he’d seen a good share of them adapted for combat the last time he and Barry had visited Gotham City. As the routine ended and the judges gave their scores, he pushed himself off the wall and headed for the stairs up to his room.  
  
“Night mom,” he called over his shoulder.  
  
“Goodnight, Wally.”  
  
  
He stretched with a yawn as he entered his bedroom, closing the door behind him and pulling his tshirt off over his head. He tossed it vaguely in the direction of his laundry hamper and scratched his stomach. What a waste of a night, doing nothing but school work. If had at least been chemistry or something, it would’ve felt like less of a bore, but luck wasn’t with him tonight. He eyed his computer briefly, contemplating video games or surfing the internet, but opted instead to strip down to his boxers, and flop back on his bed. He closed his eyes and thought about the girl from the gymnastics routine on the tv.  
  
Wally _really_ liked girls. He liked girls with big boobs, with small ones, with curves, with skinny frames, short hair, long hair… He liked them all. Unfortunately, none of them really liked _him_ just yet, so he had to make do with his imagination. His hand skimmed down his stomach as he pictured the girl doing a handstand, splaying her legs in an upside-down split.  
  
He reached for the lotion next to his bed first, then slipped his hand past the waistband of his boxers as he thought about how it would feel to run his hands up the inside of her strong thighs. She’d moan, quietly, like she thought he wouldn’t hear her, and he wouldn’t touch her further than that just yet. He’d pull her onto his lap instead, and kiss her, feeling her breasts through the tight spandex of her outfit.  
  
He was fully hard now, pausing from stroking himself to quickly shuck his boxers off. The combination of teenage hormones, a good jerk-off fantasy, and the unfortunate side effect of being fast in _everything_ he did meant he wasn’t going to last long, so he sped up the fantasy. Now the girl, slim and skinny, but flexible from her gymnastics and well-muscled under her skin-tight outfit, was kneeling in front of him, sucking his cock. His hand was in her short, cropped black hair. Blue eyes stared up at him as he thrust his hips forward, biting his lip - in his fantasy _and_ in reality - to keep a groan back. He tightened his hand around himself, and the fantasy girl pulled her mouth off, smirking up at him as her hand fisted around his cock, stroking him just as fast as he was stroking himself.  
  
He could feel it, the telltale tingle in his balls. But right as he started to come, he could almost hear the object of his fantasy laugh, a familiar cackle, and he realised he wasn’t thinking about the girl from the television at all. But it was too late to stop now. His hips rocked up off his bed, into his hand, his dick pulsing as he came hard, the first spurt hitting high on his chest, almost to his throat. _That_ had certainly never happened before, the only part of his brain not focussed on either the effects of the orgasm, or on the impending freakout about what had just happened helpfully noted.  
  
He finished and shivered hard, vibrating a little with the speed of it, and reaching over to his nightstand for a tissue to clean up with. Clean up first, then boxers back on, _then_ stop to freak out over fantasizing about your best friend jerking you off.  
  
“Okay,” he said outloud, after a long silence in which he tried very hard not to think about anything at all. “Okay, that was weird, but totally not going to happen again.”  
  
  
And he would’ve been able to convince himself of it had he not done the very same thing the following night, and the night after that, and again in the shower the morning after _that_.


End file.
